


Pressed Flowers

by thornclaw



Series: Lark Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornclaw/pseuds/thornclaw
Summary: Just a little thing about how Varric and my Inquisitor got back on track after Lark left Hawke in the Fade. The title is how I think of their relationship afterwards--it's changed and not as imperfect as it was before but they're still close.
Series: Lark Trevelyan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909447
Kudos: 3





	Pressed Flowers

“Varric?”

Lark hesitated beside the long oak table in the nearly empty main hall of Skyhold, her fingers twitching anxiously. Varric sat in front of the fire; he was a silhouette against the flames, unmoving and silent.

“I’m sorry about Hawke. Someone needed to stay behind, and she volunteered. She said Alistair would rebuild the Wardens and I needed to lead the Inquisition, and I thought she was right. I would never have done it if Calika wasn’t sure and it wasn’t necessary. I know you’re hurt and angry and I don’t blame you for ignoring me but—”

“I trusted you.” His voice was flat and unchallenging.

Lark froze, the frantically spilling words dammed in her throat. She forced herself to step closer as her eyes pricked. “I know.” She laid a hand on his shoulder and winced as he turned his head away from her. She drew her hand back and bunched the hem of her shirt, squeezing it.

“I brought Hawke here because _you_ made me feel safe enough to trust you. You know what she was to me.” He let out a shuddering breath and covered his mouth with one hand. “I just don’t know how to get past this, Wings.”

 _Wings._ The nickname had been coined on their first trip to the Hinterlands, Solas and Cassandra beside them; the wind buffeted them as they stood atop a cliff and Lark had tipped her head back and closed her eyes to feel the sun. Cassandra had been the one to grab her breastplate as wandered too close to the edge, the ground crumbling beneath her feet. His laughing voice cut through that bewildered fog that comes after such a mistake. _Careful, Lark—I don’t think the name comes with wings._

Lark stifled a sob and cursed herself. She pulled her hand back and knelt beside the chair; she looked up at Varric, his jaw angrily set and his reddened eyes dull. _Maker, what have I done to him?_ Just a week ago he had been more at ease than she’d ever seen him—lounging in the tavern with Hawke, their legs tangled together in that way that only two people who had nothing left to hide from one another can make look natural. Varric’s rough laugh cut through the din of Herald’s Rest and that proud smirk never left Hawke’s face as she looked at him; her auburn hair glowed in the candlelight and her long, elegant features struck Lark speechless.

The silence was broken by a log that succumbed to the flames with a crack, making Lark jump. “If I could go back, Varric…”

“Would you change what happened?” He turned to look at her for the first time. His stony gaze chilled her despite the heat in the hall. “Would you have saved Hawke instead?”

Lark blinked, the tears that had pooled falling in rivulets. “I don’t…” Her voice shook and she gritted her teeth. “ _No_. Hawke was right, and her bravery and certainty in that moment is something I could never have suppressed. I’m sorry, but you know it’s true.” She inched backwards, half expecting him to lash out at her.

Varric studied her for a moment; as Lark steeled herself for a blow he smiled sadly. “You know, in our first year together in Kirkwall some ass of an Orlesian noble told her she was ‘beautiful enough to start a war, bold enough to fight in it, and foolish enough to die for her own vanity.’” He wiped the tears from his cheeks and let out a choked laugh. “Maybe it’s a compliment in Orlais, but it made her so furious she never forgot it.”

Lark giggled; her eyes were blurry, but her hands stilled. “Don’t tell me she let him get away with saying it!”

“She just looked right at him and told him, ‘I’m sorry, I stopped listening after you called me beautiful.’” Varric laid a hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath and he let out weepy guffaws. “And I never told anyone this, but after the Chantry explosion she looked at me and said, ‘Damn Orlesian saw this coming five years ago!’ She was—” His voice broke and Lark leaned up and wrapped her arms around him.

Varric pulled away first and gave her a pat on the cheek. “Thanks, Wings. Can you give me some time? Maker help me, I need to tell Anders and Carver.”

Lark headed to her quarters, glancing back at him. _It won’t be the same, but we’ll be okay._


End file.
